


panic! at the disco is not the gay facebook movie

by notquiteaghost



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M, Post-Split, Reconciliation, this is completely ridiculous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-14 08:40:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1260034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notquiteaghost/pseuds/notquiteaghost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Brendon isn't exactly sure why he and Spencer end up watching The Social Network at two in the morning on a Tuesday.</em>
</p><p>In which Brendon watches a film, freaks out a bit, makes some inadvisable decisions, and still (somehow) manages to get the guy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	panic! at the disco is not the gay facebook movie

**Author's Note:**

> the idea for this spawned on twitter, which says everything you need to know. title credit to the wonderful rosie; betaed by the aforementioned rosie & the amazing aiden.
> 
> this isn't set any time in particular. it's purposefully vague, actually, because timelines make my head hurt. let's call it 2014, for arguments sake, but it doesn't really matter. suspend your disbelief a little bit.
> 
> (if you havent seen the social network, then basically all you need to know is that mark zuckerberg screws his best friend out the company they started together for some pretty shitty reasons. which im sure is something brendon & ryan can relate to).
> 
> **obligatory rpf disclaimer: if your name is mentioned, this fic isn't for you, close this tab thanks**

Brendon isn't exactly sure why he and Spencer end up watching The Social Network at two in the morning on a Tuesday. 

He's never seen it before, though he's not really sure why. It's not like he's got anything against it, or anything. It feels like the kind of film Rya-- It's just not the kind of film he's interested in, he supposes. Just not his thing. 

Spencer has seen it before, apparently. In the cinema, even. He won't say who with, but Brendon is determinedly not thinking about that. 

"You'll like it." Spencer assures him as he fiddles around with the DVD. "There's a load of homoerotic angst, it's right up your alley."

Brendon throws a cushion at him. 

But, somewhat against his will, by the time Jesse Eisenberg is making questionable web design choices, Brendon finds himself enjoying it. It's very well-made, okay? From a purely cinematographic standpoint. He's not emotionally invested in a fictional version of Mark Zuckerberg, even if that fictional version of Mark Zuckerberg is played by Jesse Eisenberg. That's something Ryan wo-- That'd be _weird_. 

And then they get to the disposition scenes. 

Suddenly, Brendon isn't just emotionally invested in a fictional version of Mark Zuckerberg, he's fucking _empathising_ with him. He's ridiculous. This is ridiculous. 

By the time they get to, "He was also my best friend," Brendon is getting uncomfortable. Because, okay, he's fine with identifying with a fictional version of Mark Zuckerberg - it’s not the weirdest thing to ever happen to him. He lives a pretty surreal life. 

But the narrative is kind of painting Mark Zuckerberg as a dick. 

So now Brendon is identifying with a dick. 

He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat.

"You okay?" Spencer asks. As always, nothing Brendon does escapes him. 

Brendon waves a hand, swallows again, and says, "Sure, yeah, I'm great." And then he ruins any plausible deniability by jumping to his feet and adding, "I could go for some popcorn, you want popcorn? Popcorn sounds _great_ , I'm gonna go make popcorn."

Spencer gives him a look, like he doesn't believe that for a second, but he doesn't push. Brendon escapes to the kitchen. 

Once there, door safely shut between him and Spencer, he takes several steadying breaths, then gets out his phone. He pulls up Twitter, as a distraction, and writes out, "You'll never believe what me & Spence are watching" before remembering who, exactly, follows him on Twitter, and thinking better of it. Deleting the tweet is a weird mix of cowardice and vindictiveness.

And then, somehow, he finds himself on Ryan's Twitter page. His last tweet is, predictably, completely ridiculous, but it still makes Brendon huff a laugh. A laugh that leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. 

He exits out of Twitter. 

And then starts to make popcorn, because if he walks back in without any popcorn Spencer will look at him with those concerned eyes of his and Brendon can't deal with that right now, he just can't. Concern makes it feel like there’s a problem, and there isn’t. Nothing’s wrong. Brendon is _fine_.

Once the popcorn is in the microwave, he picks his phone back up, just for something to do.

He opens up his contacts, scrolling through for anyone who might care that he's watching The Social Network, sees 'do NOT drunk dial', and freezes.

He keeps forgetting he still has Ryan's number.

And it is still Ryan's number, though he's not sure why he knows that, but the fucker hasn't changed his number in years. His name in Brendon's phone has changed, going from 'ryro' to 'ryan' to '[redacted]' (Brendon has an odd sense of humour when he's drunk) to 'fuck this guy' to the current 'do NOT drunk dial', which was Spencer's doing.

Brendon pulls up a new text message, writes out “You’ll never believe what me & spence are watching”, stares at it for several seconds, and then gets interrupted by the microwave beeping. He pockets his phone and turns his attention back to the popcorn.

He can’t text Ryan, anyway. Not about that. Not now. Not when he’s spent so long determinedly not thinking about him, pointedly not talking to him…

He can’t. He _can’t_. 

“Oh, you paused the movie.” Brendon says, when he finally walks back into the room.

Spencer raises an eyebrow. “Dude, you were taking forever.”

“And?”

“And this bit’s important.”

“Alright, alright, whatever. Just play it already.”

Brendon can feel Spencer’s eyes on him, probably full of well-meaning and entirely misplaced concern, but he refuses to look. Instead, he ignores Spencer in favour of getting engrossed in the movie again. He’s getting really good at ignoring things. Practice makes perfect, and all that. 

\---

When the film ends, Spencer turns to Brendon and opens his mouth. Before he can even get a word out, Brendon says, “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? What was I going to say?”

“Some bullshit about how I’m ‘trying too hard to be an asshole’?”

“Well, yeah.” Spencer looks at him pointedly. “Because you are.”

“I’m not trying to be an asshole.” Brendon snaps, even though he’d been thinking that ever since that lawyer chick had said it, a repeating loop in his head, _you’re just trying so hard to be you’re just trying so hard to be you’re just trying so hard to be_. “I haven’t spoken to the guy in _years_ ; I really doubt he cares about little old me anymore.”

“You were best friends.”

“Key word being ‘were’.”

There’s a pause, Spencer still giving him that look. Brendon’s being a dick, he knows that, he’ll buy Spencer lunch or something tomorrow, but right now, all of his hackles are up. 

He doesn’t like thinking about this, let alone talking about it.

But Spencer has always liked talking about things, and rehab only reaffirmed his belief that the best way to deal with something was to talk it out. This is not a belief Brendon shares.

“He asks about you.” Spencer offers, after the pause has stretched out long enough to get awkward.

Brendon starts. “He what now?”

“He asks about you.” Spencer repeats. “He asks me, about you. How you’re doing.”

There are a lot of things Brendon could say in response to that, a lot of questions he could ask. He swallows them all, ignores the bitter taste, and says, “We’re talking about the same guy, right?”

“Ryan asks about you.”

“Jesus.” Brendon says, feeling like the word has been ripped out of him. Like someone has pulled the world out from beneath his feet. “Jesus _fuck_. And, what, you didn’t think I deserved to know?”

Quietly, Spencer says, “I didn’t think he’d want me telling you.”

Brendon knows Spencer still talks to Ryan. Of course he knows that - Ryan was Spencer’s friend first. There’s no reason for them to stop being friends just because of Ryan and Brendon’s drama. 

There’s no reason for the idea of Ryan asking about him to leave such a sour taste in Brendon’s mouth.

“How often?” Brendon blurts. “How often does he ask? What do you tell him? Do you tell him the truth?”

“Yes, I tell him the truth. And I don’t know, he doesn’t exactly keep to a schedule. Not that often. Every few months, maybe.”

Brendon swallows again, then says, “Right. Okay. That’s-- Great. I have no idea what to do with that information.”

Brendon still has a million questions, a million things he needs to know, but he’s starting to feel a bit creepy. He’s starting to feel a lot of things, but ‘creepy’ is something he can deal with, because Ryan has almost definitely not told Spencer he can share this kind of thing with Brendon - Brendon wants to ask if this means Ryan and Spencer talk about him, but he doesn’t know if he wants to hear the answer. He’s going to lie awake for long enough as it is, questioning every choice he’s made in the past four years. Every word he’s said. Every word he _hasn’t_ said.

Which reminds him; four in the morning. It’s four in the morning, on a Tuesday. 

He stands up, stretches, says, “I’m gonna go to bed.”

Spencer nods and says, “Sleep well.”

Brendon, predictably, doesn’t.

\---

spencer [04:16]: have u seen the social network?

ryan [04:17]: that film about facebook? yh, y?

spencer [04:19]: just watched it. seemed like ur kinda thing.

ryan [04:19]: whats that suposed to mean?

spencer [04:19]: nothing dw

\---

It’s a week and a half before Brendon cracks.

A week and a half of being unable to stop thinking about that fucking film, and the past, and all the things he said but didn’t really mean, and just how much of an asshole he is. He’s always had a knack for self-deprecation. 

He’s always had a knack for being an asshole.

He’s not even drunk when he makes the call, but he considers putting on a slur anyway. Plausible deniability, make sure he can pretend not to remember this in the morning--

“Hello?” Ryan asks, and Brendon’s thoughts stutter to a halt all at once. It’s the first time he’s heard Ryan’s voice in _months_ , and God, it’s like a punch to the gut.

The feeling isn’t a new one.

“Um, hi.” Brendon says.

“You’re not calling me to insult me, are you?” Ryan sounds like he thinks that’s a genuine possibility, like Brendon has given him reason to think that’s a genuine possibility, and _God_ , Brendon is a _dick_.

“Um. No.”

“Are you calling me because Spencer told you to?”

Spencer had suggested it, yeah. About eight months ago.

“...Not exactly.”

“Fuck, Spencer’s okay, right?” Ryan asks, a note of panic in his voice.

Brendon rushes to reassure him. “Yeah, yeah, Spencer’s fine, he’s great, don’t worry. If anything happened, I doubt I’d be the one to call you, anyway.”

“Right. Yeah, obviously.”

Silence descends, like a fog or a blanket or something else that’s suffocating. All of a sudden, Brendon is finding it hard to breathe. 

God, why did Brendon do this again? This was never going to end well. He should just hang up now, before he can really put his foot in his mouth, in the morning he can blame all the alcohol he didn’t drink--

“So why did you call me?”

“Would it surprise you to hear I wanted to talk to you?” Brendon says, all in one breath, before he can think better off it.

Bluntly, Ryan replies, “Yes.”

“Right. Well, um,” Brendon swallows. “I’ve been… thinking, lately. A lot. About… stuff.”

“Stuff?”

Brendon can’t decipher Ryan’s tone, can’t tell if he’s mocking him in a friendly way or a not-friendly way, still can’t tell if this was in any way a good idea. “Yeah, um. The past. Past mistakes. ...Us.”

“Us.”

Brendon makes an annoyed noise at his own inability to talk. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry, I was an asshole and I’m still an asshole and I’m--”

“--Really sorry?”

“Really, _really_ sorry. I was a dick. You… You deserved better.”

Silence descends, again. Brendon starts to question every decision he’s ever made, again. He’s starting to feel like a broken record. Do broken records ever find it so hard to breathe?

“I have to go.” Ryan says, abruptly. He hangs up before Brendon can get another word in, leaving Brendon standing in his kitchen, holding a phone to his ear, feeling almost shell-shocked.

What, exactly, just happened?

\---

ryan [01:47]: brendon just caled me

spencer [01:48]: wait, really?

ryan [01:49]: yes rly

spencer [01:49]: ...huh

ryan [01:49]: did u talk to him or smth?

spencer [01:52]: no

spencer [01:52]: we watched the social network though

spencer [01:52]: he’s been acting weird ever since

spencer [01:59]: ry?

spencer [02:03]: are you ok?

spencer [02:15]: fine, don’t tell me. im going to bed.

\---

It’s just under another week - six days of regret, over-thinking and various (failed) attempts at distraction - before something else happens.

That is, Ryan texts Brendon. Completely out of the blue. During daylight hours, no less.

ryan [14:37]: did u rly mean what u said abt bein sorry?

Brendon stares at the text for a good five minutes, reading it over and over until he has it memorised, burned into the backs of his eyelids. Then he puts his phone down.

He has no idea what's happening.

The one good thing about pretending Ryan didn't exist was that at least he didn't have to think about him. Pretending he didn't exist meant pretending nothing had ever happened, nothing had ever been said, he'd never had a best friend and he'd never lost that best friend and everything was just peachy. He doesn't _want_ to think about this.

It's too painful. He fucked up, it was all his fault - that hurts. He doesn't want to admit to it. 

But, God, he can't exactly ignore Ryan if the guy is going to text him, completely out of the blue, asking questions so loaded they could sink a cruise ship.

He takes a deep breath, pick up his phone, and calls Spencer.

Spencer will know what to do. 

(Spencer never stopped talking to Ryan. Spencer never forgot how to talk to Ryan, how to understand Ryan. Brendon doesn't know what's worse - that he used to understand Ryan so well, or that he doesn’t understand him at all now.)

"Brendon?"

"Hi. Hello. Hey."

"...Are you okay?"

"No, not really. Ryan texted me. Just now. Out of the blue."

"It doesn't count as 'out of the blue' if you called him first." Spencer points out, logically, reasonably.

Brendon hadn't factored in Spencer being logical or reasonable. He resists the urge to snap something mean and hang up.

"I called him a _week_ ago."

"And?"

"If he wanted to ask me something, why didn't he just do it then?"

"Maybe he didn't know he wanted to ask you something then. Maybe he's a human being, who needs time to think, mull things over, sort himself out. Like you."

Brendon hasn't got anything to say in response to that.

At least, not anything that wouldn't make him sound like a dick.

(Which he is. But still. Plausible deniability.)

Spencer sighs. "You weren't the only one fucked up by this, you know."

"Of course I know that," Brendon snaps, before he can stop himself, "why do you think I've been ignoring him for so long? What good's it going to do for him, seeing me again?"

"Oh, Brendon..." Spencer says, sounding far too much like Brendon's mother for comfort. “If he texted you, then that means he wants to talk to you, right? For closure, if nothing else.”

“...You want me to reply to him, don’t you.”

“Yes, Brendon, I want you to reply to him. May I remind you that I’m friends with both of you, and this is getting _painful_.”

Rubbing a hand over his face, Brendon says, “Right, okay. Fine. I’ll text him.”

“Good.” Spencer replies. “Please try not to fight. That got old in 2012.”

Instead of saying something unpleasant, Brendon hangs up on him. He knows Spencer is joking - well, mostly - but he doesn’t trust himself to joke back at all. He feels strung out, breakable, like he’s going to splinter into thousands of tiny little pieces. It’s not a pleasant feeling.

He pulls open his text messages again, only to discover Ryan sent him several more during his phone call that his phone apparently hadn’t wanted to tell him about.

ryan [14:39]: i mean it doesnt matter not rly but

ryan [14:39]: i miss u

ryan [14:41]: ive never told anyne that before

ryan [14:41]: that i miss u

ryan [14:41]: but i do. a lot.

ryan [14:44]: i dont think im angry at u anymore

ryan [14:44]: being angry is exhausting

ryan [14:45]: i havent forgiven u i just

ryan [14:46]: cldnt keep up bein angry all the time

ryan [14:46]: sorry wld be nice to hear

Brendon reads the texts three times, mouthing them to himself, hardly able to believe they’re there. 

brendon [14:49]: I wouldnt have said sorry if i didnt mean it

brendon [14:49]: Im not expecting you to forgive me or anything

brendon [14:49]: Please dont feel like you have to forgive me

brendon [14:49] It was a selfish thing i guess. I just wanted to say it

Ryan’s reply takes so long that Brendon almost gives up, starts playing Candy Crush for something to do with his hands before he explodes. Nervousness has always made him restless.

ryan [15:03]: im sorry 2

ryan [15:03]: idk if u want to hear it but im saying it

brendon [15:04]: What are you sorry for???

ryan [15:04]: u arnt the only 1 who said shit u regret

And Brendon has no idea what to do with that. He’s spent so long thinking he was the only one at fault - still thinks that, really. Ryan’s always jumped at any opportunity to blame himself, and Brendon doesn’t trust that instinct now any more than he did five years ago.

But now is not the time to argue Ryan’s guilt complex. They’re not friends anymore; Brendon doesn’t have the right. This isn’t them becoming friends, this is them ceasing to be enemies. There’s a difference. Brendon needs to remember that.

He’s walking on thin ice. He could still fuck this up. _You’re just trying so hard to be you’re just trying so hard to be you’re just_ \--

He takes a deep breath, and types out a reply.

brendon [15:07]: ...Truce?

ryan [15:09]: truce.

\---

Two months later, at three in the morning, Brendon’s phone starts to ring.

He’s asleep, for once, but he wakes up at the insistent buzzing, scrabbling for his phone and answering the call without checking to see who it is.

Meaning he’s more than a little shocked when it’s Ryan who says, “Hello?”

“...Hi?” Brendon replies. He’s most likely dreaming. Why would _Ryan_ of all people be calling him?

“Shit, did I wake you up? Fuck, sorry, I’ll go, I don’t even know why I called--”

“Don’t worry about it.” Brendon interjects. “Don’t go. It’s fine. I don’t-- I don’t mind talking to you.”

“Oh.” is all Ryan says, his voice small and surprised. He sounds breakable. Brendon should have let him hang up.

There’s a pause. It’s only a little bit awkward, which isn’t something Brendon can explain, because this should be so awkward it’s suffocating, but it’s… not. Somehow.

Brendon has always been comfortable around Ryan, no matter what. Even when they were fighting. Even when they were angry, so angry they could hardly look at each other without throwing punches. There’s just something about him, something comfortable, something that makes Brendon want to toe off his shoes and relax.

“I missed the sound of your voice.” Ryan says, eventually, a rushed confession.

“You’re not drunk, are you?” Brendon replies, then winces. “Fuck, sorry, you don’t have to answer that, I’m--”

“I’m the one who only ever said that kind of thing when I was off my face. It’s fine.”

“Right. Okay. Um, me too. I mean, I’ve missed your voice too, I haven’t missed my own voice, that’d be weird--”

“Are _you_ drunk?”

Brendon laughs. “Nope. I have no excuse for the shit coming out of my mouth right now. Unless I’m drunk on you-- God, I should just stop talking.”

Ryan sounds fond when he says, “I don’t mind. It’s cute.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call anyone ‘cute’ before.”

“People change.”

Brendon’s throat closes up at that, because he’s sure Ryan meant it as a joke, a lighthearted no-hard-feelings joke, but it just reminded Brendon of how much he’s fucked this up, how long it’s been since he’s been any kind of close with Ryan, how he wasn’t around to watch Ryan change. He swallows heavily.

“See, you say that, but your fashion sense hasn’t improved any.”

Ryan gasps, all faux-offended, and Brendon can practically see the hand he is undoubtedly clutching to his chest. 

And, somehow, the conversation continues like that, both of them loosening up as time goes on, neither of them daring to bring up anything more serious for fear of ruining this tentative peace they’re building. It continues for nearly an hour, until Ryan’s speech gets so sleep-slurred that Brendon’s worried he’ll start snoring.

“You need to go to bed.” Brendon says.

“You’re not my real mom.” Ryan replies, but any effect he was going for is ruined by the yawn that interrupts him mid-sentence.

Brendon repeats, “You need to go to bed, before you fall asleep mid-word.”

And it’s a testament to how tired Ryan is that, instead of agreeing or saying goodnight or any of the things Brendon is expecting him to do, he says, quietly, “I don’t want to break the spell.”

“Ryan…” Brendon breathes out. He’s overcome by a sudden urge to hug him, to gather him close and press promises into his hair, and that urge should not be this familiar. God, he’s a mess. “I’ll text you, okay? As soon as I wake up. I promise.”

“Promise you promise?”

“Promise I promise.” 

“Good.” Ryan says, his voice gone quiet and soft around the edges with exhaustion. “G’night.”

“Sleep well.” Brendon replies, then hangs up.

He drops his phone onto the bed, and stares at the ceiling. He thinks, _That has to have been a dreams_ , thinks, _That felt real while it was happening but now it sounds absurd, that_ has _to have been a dream_.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep.

\---

When Brendon wakes up the next morning, he doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he does remember the phone call. The incredibly surreal, surely-a-dream phonecall.

It occurs to him that, to know for sure, he could just check the call history on his phone.

He doesn’t.

He’s not sure if he wants to know for sure yet.

Instead, he gets up and makes coffee and checks his email and feeds his dog. Then he plays Candy Crush until he’s out of lives, drinks the coffee, replies to a couple emails, and remembers about the text he promised to send Ryan. 

Ryan’s voice echoes through his head, sleep-slurred and far too vulnerable, _“Promise you promise?”_. Brendon swallows. Fuck.

 _Fuck_.

He opens up his call history, and sure enough, there it is, clear as day; “[yesterday] do NOT drunk dial [03:14]”.

God, he’s fucked, he’s so fucked, he’s so completely and utterly _fucked_. He contemplates sending that to Ryan, but he doesn’t want to think about what Ryan might think it means.

Right. Okay. He can do this, it’s just one text message. They were on the phone for a good hour last night… They were best friends for five whole years…

It’s just a fucking text message. He can send one goddamn text message.

(It still takes him four tries before he writes something he’s comfortable sending. His life is a trainwreck.)

brendon [10:36]: Good morning sunshine, the earth says hello

ryan [10:38]: ***starshne 

brendon [10:39]: It’s not polite to correct people, did no one ever teach you any manners?

ryan [10:39]: i cnsider it impolite to msiquote the classics

Brendon huffs a laugh at that - he can hear Ryan saying it, his deadpan tone and the unimpressed look in his eye, and suddenly Brendon is almost blind-sided by how much he misses him.

He pushes the feeling aside, because it’s far too early to deal with feelings.

brendon [10:41]: Your typos seem to be getting more frequent…

brendon [10:41]: Did you sleep at all? You’re typing like you need to go to bed

ryan [10:42]: fuck u my typing is oustanding

brendon [10:42]: I’m rolling my eyes at you right now

ryan [10:47]: well im sticking my tongue out at u so there

brendon [10:48]: Look at that typo-free sentence! Did you make coffee?

ryan [10:48]: srsly fuck u

\---

They start, to Brendon’s complete surprise, to text regularly. They haven’t called again - that feels significant, important, like a line they’re not entirely sure about crossing - but two weeks go by with them texting daily. It’s mundane stuff, mostly - again, they’re skirting cautiously round any serious conversations - but it’s the kind of thing Brendon texts someone he considers a friend.

He doesn’t know whether or not he considers Ryan a friend.

He knows he _wants_ to. Knows he misses Ryan, enjoys talking to him, still somehow trusts him, but. Well.

It’s complicated.

Spencer comes over, to laze around and play mindless video games and, apparently, ask Brendon invasive questions about his personal life.

“You’ve been texting Ryan.” He says, not accusingly, just matter-of-fact. Brendon feels accused anyway.

“So? It’s a free country.” 

“Not where Ryan is concerned.” Spencer doesn’t look away from the TV, which is fine; Brendon is perfectly content to have this conversation sans eye contact. “You’ve fucked each other over once already. I’m not sure I trust you not to do it again.”

_Funny that, I don’t trust myself either._

“I resent that. I’m not the same person I was five years ago.” _I’ve gotten better at holding my tongue_.

“And neither’s Ryan. That doesn’t mean you’re not going to fuck it up again. You’ll just do it in new and creative ways.”

Brendon wants to argue that, wants to defend his honour (wants to defend Ryan’s honour), but, well. Spencer has a point.

There is a kind of history-repeats-itself element to it, that since they’ve done it once they’ve set a precedent. Like addicts, falling back into bad habits. ...Which would make a pretty good song lyric, except Brendon promised himself he wouldn’t write any (more) songs about Ryan.

“I just want to make sure you don’t get hurt. Either of you.” Spencer continues, after a minute or so. “And also maybe get one of you a new best friend, so I’m not fucking caught in the middle all of the time.”

Brendon knocks their shoulders together at that. “Shush, you love me really.”

“You just keep telling yourself that,” Spencer replies, as onscreen he appears out of nowhere and slaughters Brendon’s poor avatar.

“Oh my God, fuck you, you sneaky little shit, you’re gonna pay for that.”

\---

They’ve been texting regularly for almost a month when something happens to jumpstart their friendship a little quicker than Brendon was anticipating.

For the record, it was totally Ryan’s fault.

Ryan’s the one who felt the need to be all secretive about where he was going or what he was doing for no good reason, so it’s Ryan’s fault that Brendon got bored (not that texting Ryan is his main source of entertainment, that would be ridiculous) and decided to go over to Spencer’s.

And, see, if Ryan hadn’t been so weird about it and had just straight-out _said_ he was staying with Spencer for a couple days, Brendon would have stayed far away. Sure, it’s been years since the knowledge had any practical use, but he knows you don’t disturb Spencer-and-Ryan time without good reason. 

But Ryan had been weird and secretive, and so Brendon hadn’t known he was disturbing anything, and now Brendon and Ryan are both stood in Spencer’s hallway, staring at each other silently. It’s… more than a little awkward.

Ryan had opened the door, Spencer apparently indisposed with some cooking thing in the kitchen, and Brendon had frozen and started to blurt out apologies before turning to leave. And then Ryan had insisted he come in, for reasons unbeknownst to anyone but him, and then Brendon had come in, because he still can’t say no to Ryan unless he’s so angry he can’t see properly. 

And, right now, he’s not angry. Just confused. And shocked. And speechless. And really wishing Spencer would come out from the kitchen and interrupt this staring contest he and Ryan seem to be having, before the awkwardness proves fatal.

“Ryan?” Spencer shouts, like he heard Brendon’s thoughts, which-- No actually that idea is terrifying, Brendon isn’t thinking about that anymore. “Who was at the door? They’re not holding you at gunpoint or anything, are they?”

Ryan swallows - Brendon can see his throat move, not that Brendon is staring at Ryan’s throat or anything - and calls back, “No.”

“Then who was it?”

“Hi!” Brendon calls, deciding it’s not like this can get any more awkward.

There’s a faint crashing sound, like Spencer dropped whatever he was holding, then he appears in the doorway. He’s covered in a thin layer of flour and looks completely ridiculous. Brendon bites his tongue to prevent any completely inappropriate giggles from escaping. “I thought Ryan would’ve texted you.”

“Yeah, well, you thought wrong. That would’ve made too much sense. You wanted to maintain an air of mystery, didn’t you?” Brendon directs the question at Ryan, who doesn’t react. Which is good, because Brendon isn’t exactly sure whether he was trying to make Ryan flinch or smile.

Spencer rolls his eyes. “Well, if you’re here, you might as well stay. You’re a lot less of a disaster in the kitchen than Ryan, anyway.” Then he turns and walks back into said kitchen, presumably expecting both Ryan and Brendon to follow him.

Which they do, after another few seconds of staring at each other wordlessly. It’s weirder than Brendon had thought it would be, seeing Ryan in person again. He looks… different, in ways Brendon can’t quite articulate. Older, sure, but that’s a given. Happier, maybe. Certainly a lot less frayed around the edges.

Brendon pushes those thoughts aside and moves towards the kitchen.

\---

It’s not as awkward as Brendon imagined it would be.

But, well, Brendon imagined it being so awkward the ground would actually open up and swallow one of them, or possibly even all three of them, so that’s not actually saying all that much.

“Wait, are you telling me you didn’t like the LEGO Movie?”

It’s easy to pretend it’s not awkward, anyway, especially when Ryan insists on having such an awful taste in cinema.

“It was okay.” Ryan shrugs. “I just don’t understand the hype.”

“Wash your mouth out!” Brendon says, pointing a finger at Ryan in a worrying imitation of his mother. “Blasphemy! I won’t have that kind of language in my house!”

“Actually, it’s my house.” Spencer interjects helpfully.

Brendon flaps a hand in his direction. “Shut up, I’m trying to show Ryan the light.”

“It’s just a film, Brendon.”

“Just a film? _Just_ a _film_?” Brendon cries, throwing his hands up in despair. He’s being over the top, he knows that, it’s his coping method, so sue him. “I’m going to strap you to a chair and tape your eyelids open and you’re going to watch it on a loop until you understand it’s brilliance.”

“I liked A Clockwork Orange.” Ryan offers.

“Yes, I know you did. I’ve watched it with you, like, _four_ times, and I think all of those were at two in the morning, so frankly, Ross, you owe me one.”

Spencer looks like he’s trying not to laugh. He doesn’t look like he’s trying very hard. Brendon spins and glares at him too, for good measure.

Raising his hands as if in surrender, Spencer says, “Hey, don’t look at _me_ , I loved the LEGO Movie!”

“And you’re making cookies.” Brendon agrees. “You’re my favourite.”

Ryan just rolls his eyes, like he’s above them or something. Which is bullshit, but Brendon isn’t going to call him on it, because that could turn into a real argument, and that is the opposite of what Brendon wants.

He’s enjoying being friends with Ryan again. He’d quite like it to continue.

\---

It gets to nearly eleven in the evening, and Brendon is still at Spencer’s - they watched the LEGO Movie, because Brendon was adamant Ryan had just watched it wrong the last time or something, and then they baked a cake, because Spencer said they’d never manage it and naturally Brendon had to prove him wrong, and then Brendon hadn’t seen this weird serial killer show Ryan loves, so they watched several episodes of that. And now it’s nearly eleven. Gosh, time flies when you’re having fun. 

Spencer sighs and says, “Well, I guess you’re staying the night.”

Brendon blinks. “What?”

“There’s no point in you driving home, you can just sleep on the couch. I’m sure the couch has been pining for you, it’s been so long since you last graced it with your presence.”

“Oh. Right. Okay.” Brendon blinks again. “Uh, thanks?”

Spencer rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever, you’re welcome.”

\---

Except Brendon doesn’t actually end up sleeping on Spencer’s couch. 

Because that would be the smart thing to do, and God forbid Brendon ever does the smart thing.

Instead, he ends up sleeping in Spencer’s spare bed. With Ryan.

He’s not entirely sure how it happened, can barely remember falling asleep. He knows Spencer wanted to go to bed but he and Ryan didn’t, so he and Ryan moved into Ryan’s (the spare) room, and settled on the bed with Ryan’s laptop. And then watched Now You See Me, and then an episode of… something with a laugh track… and that must have been about when Brendon fell asleep.

And now he’s waking up, in the same bed as Ryan Ross, only twenty hours after seeing him in person again for the first time in years. 

At least they’re both fully clothed.

Though it’s not that big of a bed, not really the kind of bed designed for more than one person, and Ryan’s quite… close. Very close. Some people might even say that they’re spooning.

God, what is Brendon’s life.

Ryan is still asleep, and Brendon has just been staring at him, which is creepy. He knows it’s creepy, but it’s also kind of unavoidable, because he’s sure if he moves, he’ll wake Ryan up, and he doesn’t want to wake Ryan up yet.

Because it will be awkward, when Ryan wakes up. Horribly awkward. Fatally awkward. Yeah.

Not because Ryan looks really peaceful when he’s sleeping, his face relaxed and content and Brendon doesn’t want to disturb that. That would be ridiculous.

…Oh, who is Brendon kidding, he’s a massive creep and he knows it and Ryan looks really--

“Bren?”

Oh shit.

Brendon freezes as Ryan stirs beside him. “Um. Morning?”

“I don’t think it’s morning.” Ryan says, his voice rough with sleep. “Is Spencer up?”

“No idea.”

Brendon waits for Ryan to say something, anything, anything at _all_ about how they were just _spooning_ , but it doesn’t happen. Ryan just rolls out of bed, stretches, then turns to Brendon, quirks an eyebrow and asks, “You staying in bed all day?”

 _I really want to kiss you_ is what Brendon thinks but thankfully does _not_ say, because, _what_. What. Where the hell did that thought come from.

“You’re not my real mom,” is what Brendon does say, as he gropes around for his glasses and stumbles out of bed. Ryan rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling, and oh, God, Brendon is gone for him.

What a conveniently-timed revelation.

Not.

\---

“I want pancakes.” Ryan announces, once they’ve both made it into the kitchen and stumbled through making coffee. Spencer hasn’t made an appearance, but Spencer is not a morning person, so they’ve decided to leave him to his sleep. 

“You’re not making pancakes.” Brendon replies. “You’re not burning Spencer’s kitchen down on my watch.”

“Make me pancakes, then.”

Brendon rolls his eyes. “And what will I get in return?”

“My undying affection.”

“What, you mean I don’t have that already?”

Ryan shoves at him. “Fine. You get… I don’t know. What do you want?”

“A kiss.” Brendon blurts out, before he can stop himself. _Shit_. “Because I am your knight in shining apron, and you are a princess in pancake-less distress, and I am coming to your rescue. Disney movies dictate you pay me with a kiss.”

“Deal.” Ryan replies. “Now make me pancakes.”

...Wait, did that actually _work_?

Brendon blinks. He was expecting Ryan to roll his eyes and ask Brendon to be serious, or laugh, or do anything else that would allow Brendon to play that off as a joke. He was not expecting Ryan to agree. What.

Sure, they used to play it fast and loose with the physical affection when they were still in a band together, but that was half a decade ago. Times have changed. Their friendship is still tentative and careful and fragile, and Brendon didn’t think it extended to any kind of physical affection past punching each other on the shoulder like men. Could he have been kissing Ryan this whole time? Does Ryan _want_ Brendon to kiss him? God, is this even platonic anymore?

He shakes his head to clear it, then gets to work making pancakes. He can’t think about that now. He needs to pay full attention to the pancakes. If he’s getting a kiss for this, they need to be really good pancakes. These pancakes are going to blow Ryan’s mind.

…Not thinking about blowing Ryan’s anything either. Jesus. Okay, pancakes. He can do this. They’re only pancakes. 

“I need music.” Brendon says out loud, as he busies himself fetching ingredients. 

“Are you asking me to sing for you?”

Brendon turns to grin at Ryan. “Whilst your voice always brings me joy, Ross, I was thinking more along the lines of an iPod. Or the radio.”

“Spencer’s is in the other room.” Ryan offers, then disappears, presumably to go get Spencer’s iPod. Or possibly Spencer’s radio. Or possibly even Spencer. He wasn’t exactly clear.

By the time Ryan returns, carrying Spencer’s laptop and one of those bluetooth speaker things, Brendon has made his pancake batter and is mixing it vigorously. It’s a very relaxing motion. He’s started to contemplate taking up baking on a more regular basis.

“You look like you’re having an existential crisis.” Ryan comments.

It should probably be weird, how easily Ryan can still read him (how easily he can still read Ryan), but it isn’t. The restart of their friendship feels more like they’re picking up from where they left off than like they’re starting again from scratch. Which might not be that healthy, but whatever. Brendon will take whatever of Ryan he can get.

“I’m going to give up music and open a bakery.” Brendon replies. 

Ryan’s back is turned, his focus on getting Spencer’s laptop to talk to the speaker things, but he’s smiling, Brendon’s sure of it.

“But what about your millions of adoring fans?”

“I’ll bake them all a cake. An apology cake. And give them discounts. It’s fine, everyone loves cake.”

“And what about Spencer?”

“Spencer can be the new front man. I’ll bake him a cake too.”

Ryan huffs a laugh at that, which is shortly followed by the first few notes of This Charming Man. The quality of the bluetooth speaker things is pretty impressive. Maybe Brendon will actually buy some.

“I think you’ve mixed that enough.” Ryan says, nodding at the bowl Brendon is holding. “Also, I’m hungry. Hurry up.”

“God, you’re so demanding.” Brendon says, but he sets down the mixture and turns his attention to the hob. 

“You love it.” Ryan replies.

Brendon pretends not to hear him.

\---

After a significantly larger amount of dancing around the kitchen and singing passionately along to The Smiths than is usually involved in the pancake making process, Brendon sets a plate of six beautiful pancakes in front of Ryan with a flourish.

“Voila!” 

“No chocolate sauce?” Ryan asks.

Brendon hits him with the spatula. “I worked hard on these, shut up and enjoy them!”

“Alright, alright, jeez.”

Brendon sits down opposite Ryan with his own plate of pancakes, which he starts to eat too so he isn’t just staring at Ryan like a creep. 

They eat in silence, or at least they don’t talk - The Smiths is still playing quietly in the background, Morrissey singing about how if there’s something you want to try, ask him, he won’t say no, how could he? (Brendon is painfully aware of the irony).

And then suddenly they’ve both finished, and Brendon is staring at Ryan’s mouth. It’s a very attractive mouth, which is not a thought Brendon has ever had before, but is a thought he now apparently can’t stop having.

He swallows. “So, fair maiden, am I cashing in on that kiss now?”

Instead of replying, Ryan stands up and moves to stand in front of Brendon and cups a hand around Brendon’s cheek, leans down, presses their lips together… 

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Brendon is kissing Ryan. That is happening. They’re kissing. Their lips are touching. Ryan’s lips are soft, which is completely unsurprising, and he lets out a gasp of air when Brendon reaches up to wind a hand around his neck and pull him closer, and _oh_.

There aren’t any fireworks or rainbows or flashing lights, but it’s addictive. Brendon can already feel himself getting addictive, can feel Ryan seeping into his bloodstream (as if he wasn’t there already), is really quite enjoying that feeling, doesn’t want it to stop…

Eventually, they break apart. 

Ryan’s lips are kiss-red and his pupils are ever-so-slightly bigger and his hand is still on Brendon’s face. Brendon’s breath gets caught in his throat.

They stare at each other for a moment, then Brendon pulls Ryan even closer and presses their lips back together, unable to help himself. Ryan is _really_ attractive and he has no idea how it took him so long to notice that.

This time round, Brendon nips gently at Ryan’s lower lip, which gets Ryan to make a quiet groaning sound Brendon definitely needs to hear again, and then Brendon is licking his way into Ryan’s mouth. That gets Ryan to moan, quietly but still a moan, and Brendon did not expect Ryan to be at all vocal but Jesus, he is in no way complaining.

This time round, Ryan pulls away. Brendon follows him without thinking, but Ryan presses a hand to his shoulder and says, voice rough, “We’re still in Spencer’s kitchen.”

“Oh. Right.”

Ryan rolls his eyes. “Yeah, ‘oh’. I don’t think he’d appreciate waking up to find us making out at his kitchen table.”

“That is an annoyingly good point.” Brendon says, with a sigh. Then, “Wait, does that mean you want to keep kissing me?”

Ryan’s gaze drops to Brendon’s mouth, which is probably just as kissed-looking as Ryan’s is. “Yeah, I do.”

“Oh.” Brendon repeats. “That’s. Good.”

“Does kissing you always shut you up like this?” Ryan asks. There’s a mischievous glint in his eye. 

“You could kiss me again to find out.” Brendon replies.

Ryan goes to lean in, then visibly stops himself. “No. There are rules about appropriate friend’s house behaviour, and this is breaking them.”

“So let’s go to my house.”

“Leaving so soon?” Spencer asks from the doorway. He looks bemused, and he’s wearing clean clothes and his hair is wet, so he must have showered. Hopefully that means he didn’t overhear anything. God, Brendon hopes he hasn’t been standing there for long.

“Good afternoon!” Brendon says, jumping to his feet. “I made pancakes! I even saved you some, because I’m a brilliant person like that. Did you sleep well?”

Spencer looks at Ryan, then at Brendon, then at the non-existent space between them. Then he says, “Actually, I’m gonna go back upstairs for a while. Leave you two lovebirds to it.” He narrows his eyes at the both of them and says, “By ‘it’ I mean talk. No funny business in my kitchen, I prepare food in here.”

And then he turns and, presumably, goes back upstairs. 

“You’re single, right?” Brendon blurts out into the ensuing silence. “I mean, please tell me you’re single and I didn’t just help you to cheat, but also, if you’re single, is there any possibility you’d want to date me? Or go on a date with me? Or just not hate me again, if you don’t like me like that, which would be completely understandable, I’ve been reliably assured I’m impossible to get along with, please say something so I can stop talking--”

Thankfully, Ryan is somewhat immune to Brendon’s tendency to ramble his way out of awkward situations, and he just looks fond when he says, “Yes, yes, and yes.”

“...Yes, you’ll go on a date with me?”

“Yes, I’ll go on a date with you.”

Brendon punches the air. Ryan rolls his eyes, but he’s leaning in to kiss Brendon again, so really, Brendon’s still coming out on top. And Ryan wants to go on a date with him. A _date_! With _Brendon_!

Spencer’s almost definitely going to walk back in any moment now and get angry that they’re kissing in his kitchen again, but Brendon can’t find any energy to care, because they’re _kissing_. And they’re going to go on a date, meaning more kissing. 

He feels like he’s walking on air.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm [here](http://monsterau.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
